Sinking Deep
by Homicidal Whispers
Summary: In his days of being a cab driver, Hinata has seen a lot of shit. Somehow he's still unprepared for this - sound of a zipper unfastening, labored breathing. ... Surely not.


Hinata Hajime is a cab-driver by choice, and he will argue that to his grave. It's true, too. He'd had promising prospects after graduating, but instead of taking up with any of the companies that had been courting him, he'd taken a gap year.

He'd always been interested in people. He had never been extroverted, but he liked to observe what others did when they thought they were alone. He had done the right thing in becoming a cab-driver, because beyond giving an address and asking for a price, his clients were all content to ignore him. People spilled their personal lives like fountains, whether it be on the phone or with whomever they chose to travel with.

He'd had customers of all sorts of ages and races. He'd had customers dressed to the nines for a night on town, and he had seen people dressed in steampunk and lolita fashions. He'd seen many thing in the months since he became a cab-driver, but he hadn't been prepared for tonight.

It is a Saturday evening and Hinata has chosen to prowl around Abernathy Avenue. The entire block holds a string of cafes and pubs; on a weekend night, there will be no shortage of customers for him.

Just as he had predicted, within moments a person with startlingly pink hair flags him down. Obligingly, he pulls up to the curb and winds down the window.

"Alright?" the man says.

"Not too shabby," Hinata answers. "How can I help you?"

"I want to send my friend home. He's had a bit too much of the drink," the man says, winking elaborately. He gestures behind him. Hinata's eyes shift to the indicated friend, hoping he won't be too much trouble the way the drunk ones can sometimes be.

He doesn't _look_ too bad off. He looks a bit distant maybe, a little unsteady on his feet, but his eyes are bright and alert. Hinata has certainly seen worse. Still, he's content to take this man's word for it.

"Have an address for me?"

"Just a moment."

The man turns to his friend and says something that Hinata doesn't catch. Then he huffs and sticks his hand into his pocket and comes back with his wallet. Hinata raises his eyebrows – he doesn't look so out of it that he wouldn't be able to give his own address.

"Between you and me," pink hair says conversationally as he rummages through it, "I think someone might've slipped him something. Thought it was best to get him out of there."

"Probably," Hinata agrees.

"Here we are," the man says and withdraws his friend's ID with a flourish. He peers at it and nods. "That looks right. How much to take him here?"

Hinata looks at the address and calculates the route in his head. It'll be about a half hour drive. "Twenty four."

"Alright," he says. He's a true friend, because he uses his own money to pay. "Look I'm sorry to ask, but he might need help getting inside. He's been getting worse."

Hinata hesitates, but the guy has already paid. It can't be that much of an inconvenience, really. He nods. "No problem."

"Great, thanks." He hands over his friend's license - Komaeda Nagito - and his keys. Then he scribbles his phone number on a scrap of paper he finds, "just in case."

Truly a good friend, Hinata muses as he drives off.

At first, Hinata focuses on the road. Soon though, he gets on the highway. With such a straight ride, his attention is free to wander a bit more.

He glances into his rearview mirror and then does a double take. His passenger, quiet all this time, is staring back at him through the mirror. Hinata looks away skittishly, but soon enough, he can't help glancing back again. Komaeda is still staring calmly, but unnervingly.

Defiantly, he tries to hold Komaeda's gaze, but he doesn't look away when he's caught the way another would. He keeps staring. Hinata finds himself looking away first.

He peers back again, catches his eyes and looks away. He's determined not to look back. Honestly, he's a little freaked out.

As he drives, he can't help but think about his strange passenger. He's weird, for sure. It's more than just his staring; his long unruly curls were bleached bone white, and he'd never seen eyes such a pale shade of green. He had delicate features, the way you see only ever see on models or actors.

The thing is, although he'd determined not to look back, he can't avoid looking into the rearview if he wants to drive safely. Sure enough, Komaeda is still looking at him. His expression has changed though; instead of complacent, he looks blatantly appraising, challenging.

Then he winks once and his eyes slip shut.

Hinata should feel grateful for the reprieve. Instead, he feels even more wary than before. He hears a sound that he's hears before, but it takes him a moment to place it.

The sound of a zipper.

_Surely not. _

They've still got at least another fifteen minutes until they arrive. Hinata grips the wheel and stares straight ahead at the road. He can't avoid hearing the sound, though.

And the sound is unmistakable. He knows this well, can almost imagine it himself. The sound of flesh rubbing against a palm, of each quick jerking motion. He can tell each time Komaeda reaches the head and swivels back down. Hinata can tell he's dragging his hand slowly, maybe teasing himself, maybe trying not to alert his driver.

Hinata hates himself as he glances back at the mirror. Komaeda's eyes are still closed, but his mouth is open in an O of pleasure in its place. As he watches, Komaeda licks his lips, then bites down.

He's really very attractive, Hinata thinks desperately.

As he watches, Komaeda throws his head back against the headrest. He bites his lips harder but the noise still comes through, a quiet breathy moan. Hinata may or may not whimper himself.

He realizes he's listing to the side and turns the wheel to correct himself. He looks back to the mirror.

Komaeda's eyes are open again, looking right at him. He sees his own eyes widen as he realizes that he's been caught. In return Komaeda's lips turn up into a smirk. Then, as his hand picks up speed, the smirk slips into another moan.

He keeps eye-contact as he brings his palm to his mouth and licks. Hinata can't find the willpower to look away. Komaeda knows he's watching and is still continuing. That makes it okay, doesn't it?

This is so _wrong_. This person is a stranger. His friend had implied he might've been slipped something. He's not capable of giving consent. No one in their right mind would do this.

He still looks. His moans get louder as his hand works over himself faster. Hinata's cock is straining in his pants, but he daren't move his hands from the wheel. That would be too much, even for him.

There's only another few minutes or so until they'll arrive. He reaches for the mirror and Komaeda flashes him an encouraging smile. Hinata angles the mirror down until he can finally see. He hadn't bothered to properly pull down his jeans, just unzipped and pulled it out. He watches Komaeda push his hips up to meet his hand. His cockhead is leaking fluid. He's making stuttering _uh-uh-uh _noises and Hinata hears the leather headrest squealing as his head jerks back and forth.

When he comes, he's nearly silent. Hinata would've missed it had he not changed the angle. His come spurts out, landing haphazard on his shirt and jeans. Komaeda doesn't seem bothered by the mess.

Silence overtakes the car as Hinata busies himself with readjusting the mirror. He gets glimpses of Komaeda's face, his expression satisfied and smug. He doesn't bother to tuck himself away.

He flips on his indicator and exits the highway. He finds himself in a residential neighbourhood. It only takes another two moments to pull up to the address on the license.

"This is you," he says. Komaeda doesn't make any move to exit. He remembers the friend saying he might need help and sighs deeply.

He gets out of the car and opens the passenger door. He feels guilty and dirty, but there's no way to avoid touching this strange man. He tugs him up. Komaeda doesn't need help to remain upright, but he does need to be guided to actually get moving. Hinata leads him to the door and fumbles with the keys until he gets the door open. Then he gives Komaeda the keys, shoves him through the door, and pulls it shut.

He sits himself in his car and shakes his head. He feels off-kilter, but the night is young yet. He has a job to do.

-/-

He doesn't realize he hadn't given Komaeda back his wallet until he sits down the following afternoon and sees it lying innocently on the seat.

"Shit," he says with feeling.

With a bit of searching he also finds the scrap with the friend's phone number. He can call him and drop it off, leaving him to deal with it.

Or, he can drop it off at Komaeda's address himself.

It is a bad idea of epic and horrific proportions. He'd jacked off to this guy the moment he got home last night, for heaven's sake. And yet, Hinata finds himself driving over there.

He has frequent misgivings, nearly stopping or pulling a U-turn several times. Komaeda hadn't been in his right mind last night. What he had done had been downright creepy. Had it counted as sexual harassment? Did this count as stalking if he had a legitimate reason to go?

As he pulls up at Komaeda's house, he stops and considers one last time. It's not too late to call the friend, schedule a drop-off point.

He rings the door before he can convince himself not to. He stands on the stoop for a few moments. Just as he's decided Komaeda isn't home, and that coming was a terrible idea, the door opens.

"Hello?" Komaeda says, breathless like he had run. His hair curls damply around his head, a towel on his shoulders to soak up the wetness. His shorts dip below his waist, like he hadn't taken the time to properly pull them on, and he's without a shirt entirely. Water clings to him – his calves and ankles, his arms and chest, everywhere he's not clothed – like he had dried off in a hurry.

Hinata forces himself not to stare at the exposed swathes of skin, reminding himself that he is not and has never been one of those weird perverts his mom used to warn him about. It's mind over matter, really.

"Hello. Sorry, I'm the cabbie that dropped you off last night. My name is Hinata Hajime."

"Ah, of course," Komaeda says. He inclines his head slightly, his face polite but still confused. It occurs to Hinata for the first time that there's a possibility Komaeda doesn't even remember last night. He'd been drugged, hadn't he? Maybe he doesn't remember his actions. Maybe it hadn't even happened. Maybe it had been some elaborate dream Hinata had thought up.

No way. There was no way Hinata could've thought of something like that with so much detail. Besides he really wasn't the kind of person to fantasize about complete strangers that way.

Komaeda looks at him expectantly. He hurries to continue. "It's just that you left your wallet in the car. I wanted to return it."

"Oh!" Komaeda says. "I hadn't noticed. I only just got up, you see. Come in, please."

Komaeda steps back and Hinata follows him into a spartan living room. There's a couch and a TV opposite it, There's a lamp and a coffee table. Apart from that, the room is basically empty. Hinata wishes there was at least a rug; even through his socks, he curls his toes against the tile's chill.

"Please, take a seat. I left the water running, I'll just go take care of that."

"I can go if I'm interrupting you," Hinata offers. He runs a hand through his hair self-consciously. He's not even entirely sure why he's here.

"No, no. I had just finished up when I heard the bell. Please, sit."

Hinata sits and Komaeda disappears through a doorway. He wishes there were some photographs, some paintings, something to stare at while he waits. Doesn't Komaeda have any family? He certainly has at least one friend. This room is so bland that it's depressing.

Hinata hears the water shut off, a sound he hadn't even noticed until it was gone. The disappearance made the place seem even emptier. Hinata sits still with a growing sense of unease.

The sound of his footsteps precedes him down the hall. "Would you like a drink? Tea? Coffee?"

"Tea, please."

"Not a problem!" Komaeda calls. The kitchen is not too far from the sitting room. If Hinata cranes his head, he can see Komaeda flitting about the room. He's not sure if he's invited further in, but the blandness of the room is beginning to grate on him. He joins Komaeda in the kitchen and he tosses a smile over his shoulder. "I always set water to boil before my shower."

"That makes sense," Hinata murmurs.

"It's good you went for tea," Komaeda continues. "The only coffee I have is instant. It's not very good but I could never justify getting a proper machine when it's just me here."

As he speaks, he moves about, fetching the tea bags and coffee grinds. He pours water over the two mugs and leaves them to brew while he fetches milk and sugar. Hinata notice that he himself takes neither, just stirs and swallows it black.

"So the wallet," Hinata says after he stirs in sugar. Komaeda has been watching him with that same placid smile and Hinata hasn't been able to help looking back, if not as obviously. Up close, he can see all the flaws he hadn't noticed through the mirror last night. Komaeda has deep circles under his eyes, the sort that only builds up after a lifetime of sleepless nights. His skin is so pale that Hinata can see the veins tracing their way up his face and he has a smattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose. There is a scar across his forehead, from his temple down to his eyebrow, that has faded white with time.

It gives his face character, Hinata decides. Last night he'd seemed other worldly in his attractiveness, with his bone-white hair and delicate frame. He seems more human now, more approachable.

"Souda called earlier," he says apropos of nothing. "The man with the pink hair," he clarifies.

"The one that dropped you off," Hinata recalls and Komaeda nods.

"He said someone may have drugged me." He says it casually, as he takes a deep gulp of his drink. Too casually. Hinata is taken entirely off guard. He can't imagine the look on his face. He knows his mouth has dropped open in surprise, but he has no words. What does one say to something like that?

"Oh!" Komaeda says and he laughs. He puts up his hands. "I'm not accusing you, of course!"

"Right," Hinata says. He takes a large gulp of his tea, but it's only been cooling for a few minutes at most. He burns his tongue and sputters, narrowly avoiding spitting it back out. He knows he's gone red and he ducks his head to hide it.

Komaeda has the decency to pretend not to notice. "_Obviously _it wasn't you. I just meant that it was fortunate."

"_Fortunate?_"

He nods. "Fortunate my friends took the initiative to get me home safely; fortunate that my cab driver was decent and got me home safely; fortunate that it gave me the liberation to do what I wanted."

He feels a rush of shame. Decent? He'd been downright depraved; watching a private moment like some kind of pervert, and with a person who wasn't conscious of their actions. Masturbating to some stranger like a preteen, objectifying a person who hadn't consented.

He feels Komaeda's hand on his own. Despite having been touching the cup, his hand is cool. He's smiling gently.

"I wanted to," he says. "I would've thought of it either way, being drugged just made me actually do it. I wanted you. I _want_ you."

Hinata hears the words, but they don't make much sense to him. Why would someone want him, let alone someone with Komaeda's looks? Hinata is well aware of what he looks like. He's well aware that he's neither particularly attractive nor particularly ugly; he's about as average as it gets. He spends the majority of his day sitting in a car, so he dresses in clothes that are comfortable rather than ones that suits him. He knows that the plain button down and slacks he wears are too loose to look good on him. His hair is perpetually stuck up in unattractive tufts from shifting against the headrest. His voice is a bit too childish, a bit too grating.

And yet Komaeda is trying to say that he's wanted him from the moment that he'd seen him. It doesn't sound possible.

Komaeda touches Hinata's hand again, less gentle about it this time. Hinata's musings come to an abrupt halt. He looks at Komaeda, with that placid smile on his face. He meets his eyes, and he knows that he must look about as confused as he feels. The quality of his expression changes; Komaeda still has that close-mouthed smile, but he seems more intent now, more determined.

Hinata's heart just about stops as Komaeda lowers himself to his knees. His head falls back as Komaeda leans forward to let his heads nuzzle at the front of Hinata's slacks. This is not his life. His life is boring and monotonous. He feels like he's fallen into a porno.

He's not the kind of person that this sort of thing happens to. If Komaeda's to be believed, he's wanted to do this since he first saw Hinata, but that just makes no sense. He can't wrap his mind about it, but who is he to complain?

Komaeda doesn't ask permission. It's good, because Hinata doesn't know if he'd have the presence of mind to say yes. Instead, he glances up at Hinata from under his lashes. They're long, he notices, but just as white as his hair, giving the illusion of snowflakes on his eyes. He searches Hinata's face for a moment. He either sees what he's looking for, or doesn't see anything that he doesn't want to, because in another moment he's unbuckling Hinata's pants and letting them drop to the floor.

Hinata's already half-hard just from Komaeda's proximity, but the way Komaeda groans like he's honestly looking forward to it makes him harder. He mouths at the seam of Hinata's underwear for an instant before drawing it down his legs.

Hinata very deliberately puts the cup of tea on Komaeda's kitchen counter and braces his palms on the edge of it. Komaeda politely waits for him to get a good grip before sucking him down, loud and shameless.

He doesn't have much finesse or technique about it, to be honest. He's only had three or four other people do this for him before, but at least half of them were better at it than he was. But Komaeda has the enthusiasm that makes up for it. He looks like he's happy with Hinata's dick down the back of his throat, like there's nowhere he'd rather be than on his knees. The ache of the tiled floor has to be getting for him, but he hardly seems to mind. He moans enthusiastically as he sucks sloppily.

Hinata shoves his hands into Komaeda's unruly locks before he can think about stopping himself. He holds himself still, hoping that Komaeda won't be offended by it. He'd had a girlfriend in the past that absolutely loathed it and would immediately stop if Hinata ever forgot himself; his other partners had had similar, if not as intense, reactions.

Komaeda on the other hand, loves it. He shoves his head forward, shaking his head until Hinata gets the hint and tugs. He groans loudly when Hinata pulls at it, and the vibrations against his cock makes Hinata moan pitifully in response.

Testing, he threads his fingers more deeply into his hair, knotting the threads around his hands. Komaeda whimpers more the harder he tugs, a sound that shouldn't be as attractive to him as it is. He loves it; it's obvious in the way he struggles to take Hinata deeper. He gags often, but doesn't stop, like he'd choose sucking Hinata's dick over getting the air he needs to survive.

Komaeda's enthusiasm is infectious and Hinata's closer than he should be, given that it's been only a scant few minutes. His hips stutter forward without his permission, and he uses Komaeda's hair like reins to meet it. He doesn't complain, even as spit dribbles down his chin and his eyes begin to water.

When he comes, his world whites out for a moment, even as Komaeda continues to gently suck. His knees give out and Komaeda helps to guide him safely to the floor. Hinata kisses him, belatedly, lazily. The taste of himself is heavy on Komaeda's tongue. He'd swallowed, but not all is gone. Hinata helps to lick the taste of his own come from his mouth.

Komaeda sticks his hand down his own shorts, obviously tented and straining. Hinata is still blissed out on the afterglow – it had been some time since he'd come that intensely – but he helps wriggle Komaeda's underwear down. Their fingers lace together around Komaeda's dick. Komaeda sets a fast pace that Hinata is too out of it to complain about. He lets Komaeda guide their hands, tightening the circle of his fist and listening to Komaeda's choked out moans.

It doesn't take too long before Komaeda comes too. He comes with his mouth open and no sound, silent for the first time since the encounter began.

They sit there for a long moment on the floor, legs twisted together while they breathe together and wait for their hearts to settle. Hinata finds his mouth on Komaeda's neck, leaving idle kisses and hickeys while they settle. It pleases a deep, primal part of him to see the livid red marks on Komaeda's pale, if currently flushed, skin.

"Can you stay?"

They're the first words that either of them has said in quite some time. Hinata's not entirely sure how to answer. He wants to check his watch, but he thinks that might come off more insulting than he intends it to. He guesses it's probably just around midday, the time he normally starts looking for customers.

He doesn't want to go, though. He doesn't know a thing about Komaeda; in fact, Hinata could guess that he's the type to keep his secrets close to his heart. He doesn't know his likes or dislikes, his hobbies or interests. He doesn't know how he spends his free time, or what he does for a living. The thing is, though, that he wants to find out. That's more than can be said of his interest in any others in a long time.

He'd had a good turnout the past couple of nights. He thinks he can afford to spend a little less time looking for customers today.

"For a bit," he says. "I'll need to head to work in a few hours."

Instantly, Komaeda brightens. Hinata hadn't even noticed that he'd been bracing himself to be let down until he watches Komaeda come alive. It's evident in the way his back straightens and his shoulders un-hunch, and in the way that he drops the polite smile and takes on a more natural look of contentment.

"We can find something on Netflix," Komaeda offers. "I don't have many video games, but you can see if you find something you like. Or, I think I have one or two board games."

"Honestly, I'm pretty tired," Hinata says.

"That sounds good, too."

Hinata rubs at his hair sheepishly, then flinches at the tackiness and wipes his hand on his pants. Komaeda laughs, a soft sound. He helps Hinata to his feet and shows him to the bathroom here they both wash off. Then, Komaeda leads him into the bedroom.

Komaeda sets some music playing, so low that Hinata can't make out anything but some soothing chords and the hint of a singer's crooning. They lay down, and they find a point somewhere between dozing and napping.

Hinata hasn't been this optimistic in a while. He thinks, as his eyes grow too heavy to remain open, that this moment right here feels like a beginning. Komaeda is the last thing he sees as he falls asleep.


End file.
